


maybe next time they'll even use a table

by antihistamemes



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6178265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antihistamemes/pseuds/antihistamemes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His very young former padawan had yanked him into his lap with a flick of the fingers, nearly a salute; his false hand only found Obi-Wan's collar after Obi-Wan was already face-down and winded. Obi-Wan looked up from under a swatch of red hair to find Anakin smiling at him. There was nothing to show that he was aware he was behaving at all eccentrically, except for the triumph that came rolling through the Force in waves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe next time they'll even use a table

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the prompt, "Anakin spanks Obi-Wan." Also not that secretly inspired by halpdevon's amazing fanart [here](http://halpdevon.tumblr.com/post/138531477226/oh-how-the-turntables).

Anakin had been so _professional_ about it--was Obi-Wan's thought much later. His very young former padawan had yanked him into his lap with a flick of the fingers, nearly a salute; his false hand only found Obi-Wan's collar after Obi-Wan was already face-down and winded. Obi-Wan looked up from under a swatch of red hair to find Anakin smiling at him. There was nothing to show that he was aware he was behaving at all eccentrically, except for the triumph that came rolling through the Force in waves.  
  
It would have been hard not to buckle a little under that confident heat. But: "Anakin," said Obi-Wan, striving for levelness, "just what exactly--"  
  
Anakin was rolling his tights down. Obi-Wan abandoned levelness and tried to push himself up to his knees, only to find he'd been trapped against Anakin's chest by what was, for all intents and purposes, an iron bar. "No, Master," said Anakin in his ear, using the gravelly, almost subaudible tone that he'd figured out disconcerted Obi-Wan about six months after his voice broke. Well, it wasn't Obi-Wan's fault that part of him still expected Anakin to squeak. "Not 'exactly.'" Before Obi-Wan could protest, he'd lowered him back across his knees, and recommenced stripping him of leggings and underthings.

Obi-Wan would have liked to be more confounded by 'and underthings.' The truth was that he had been expecting something of this nature for a few weeks now; it was the first time they'd been deployed together since Jabiim, and Anakin had, in his long quest to reassert normalcy after what had been a strikingly miserable separation, even by their standards--had started to take an _interest_ in Obi-Wan, probably because that, at least, was something that he'd never done before. It couldn't bear the taint of sentimental awkwardness.  
  
But however Obi-Wan rationalized it, it had grown past what he could dismiss as a harmless puppy crush. Or even as an experimental gesture toward their new equality. Although there was certainly some question of power--  
  
"It's not good discipline to try and retreat with the help of the Force, Master," said Anakin, with exaggerated patience. So he had noticed Obi-Wan's attempts to wriggle loose using suggestion. Fine.  
  
The word _discipline_ also finally jogged Obi-Wan's sense of the scene Anakin wanted to stage. It was a rather specific position, after all--and a word-for-word quote from his younger days, even if he'd never _spanked_ Anakin.  
  
"What is it I'm being chastised for?" he asked, detached; he spoke as much to distract himself from Anakin's upraised, open hand, as because he expected an answer.  
  
To his surprise, Anakin nodded approval. "What were the med-droid's orders before clearing you for duty?" he asked.  
  
Oh. That. "Not to let my fellow Knight get me alone in a room with him?" Obi-Wan tried.  
  
"That would have been good advice," said Anakin, cheerfully. "But no. Try again."  
  
"To... eat a truly awful combination of vitamins with every meal..."  
  
"An important combination of vitamins. And it said you needed to start sleeping six hours a night to--to really catch up. And to reduce inflammation." _Bright lights, brighter than Coruscant--how had she gotten the sun underground--?_ "Have you been sleeping six hours a night?"  
  
Which brought them to the other reason that Obi-Wan was lying fairly passively across Anakin's spread thighs, his soft cock trapped between his body and (now) sweaty leather. He kept blacking out for five second bursts.  
  
It was also the reason he wasn't truly expecting Anakin to escalate, whatever the unacknowledged pressures that had brought them to this mishap. He let his forehead drop to the bedspread. "Yes, well, you've made your point." He shivered as some trick of recycled air concentrated all his attention--even the senses that stretched outside his body--to his bare bottom. "Very colorfully, I'm sure. After this I won't risk it. Are you going to tuck me in?"  
  
"No," said Anakin, with Jedi calm. "I'm going to punish you."  
  
Obi-Wan groaned aloud despite himself. Humiliation, not at all Jedi-like, had flattened every half-formed thought--and cleared the way for a rush of arousal. His hips moved. Anakin's smugness was a beacon. Anakin... had relaxed, damn it, Obi-Wan knew he had; minutely, but he couldn't have known this would work--he had only--  
  
Seen something, Obi-Wan supposed. Seen a way through debris. It was what he did. Though always doubting, nearly rueful--Anakin found solutions to problems no one had posed. _Thank you ever so much._  
  
What was Obi-Wan used to? To the hot shock of desire, leaving a space in its wake for shame--for the sort of shame that was really only pride, bruised and self-berating. That was a trap he'd been taught to avoid. Not the reverse. This was a drop from resistance into strange, cavernous consent.  
  
"There," said Anakin, "see? That wasn't so hard." He let go of Obi-Wan's collar, and braced that hand on the back of Obi-Wan's neck.  
  
"Oh, quite," Obi-wan muttered. He wasn't sure Anakin could hear him. He had a mouthful of linen. "Easy as--"  
  
Anakin hit him.  
  
It was hard. Open-handed, but hard, and it occurred to Obi-Wan to wonder if Anakin knew how to _do_ this, safely, or if-- Anakin smacked him again. Obi-Wan decided to worry about more pressing matters, like the stinging pain in his ass. He squirmed forward instinctively, and Anakin adjusted his legs to get a firmer hold; raising the knee under Obi-Wan's hips until Obi-Wan couldn't slip out from under his hand without unhooking himself completely. He wouldn't be able to maintain that stance for long, Obi-Wan thought, desperately, not with a grown man's weight on him.  
  
A flurry of blows. Obi-Wan was gasping, limp; he'd arched up once, and immediately found he didn't have the strength for it. Anakin's leg sank down, and he lay still, trying to catch his breath, Anakin's other knee under his chest a discomfort that moored him, compared to the burn--  
  
_Smack._ It jerked through his whole body, he might have been a length of chain. "Master," Anakin moaned, above him, and the hand moved to his hair. That hurt, too, but a sharp, frivolous pain: every pinch like that was welcome, pulling him away from the boiling mess. His cold-hot ass, his cock rock-hard and yet joined up to something liquid. It really was like a spring in his middle, a hot, continuous rising, so that he almost thought he'd pissed himself except that would have brought an end to it.  
  
Anakin had stopped spanking him, the better to grope at his ass and knead the cheeks. Obi-Wan swiveled away from the motion, drilling his hips downward, and was rewarded by Anakin's hands clamping onto his lower back and shoulders; not deliberately, now, but desperately, as though he really feared escape.  
  
They were both panting. The noise crowded him in. "Anakin," Obi-Wan said, at last, "continue, would you? I don't think I've had my just deserts yet."

Anakin seemed to pull himself together with an effort. He shifted unobtrusively, shook himself, and stopped. "Good... point," he said. "Let's try this again."  
  
"I'll count," Obi-Wan offered.  
  
Anakin coughed, and slapped him. There was a pause. "Oh. One," said Obi-Wan, trying to focus. He had flown out of his head, a little, when Anakin moaned, and he still felt disconnected, dartingly conscious of the sheet under his wrists, the thin skin of his wrists, and his leggings, bunched near the knee. Anakin hit him over and over, this time setting a regular pace. Obi-Wan felt the jolt increasingly in his pelvis, a bone-ache, even as his ass started to numb. He clenched up without thinking about it, and winced when Anakin's hand landed differently, sending pins and needles everywhere. But he couldn't seem to help himself, he was thinking about what it would feel like to be rocked, not by this flat pummeling, but by _Anakin,_ inside him, an uncomfortable but unbroken stretch...  
  
He had made it up to fifteen on autopilot. It wasn't, after all, as if he wasn't enjoying this. From the first it had felt like too little and too much, the blows light and yet spreading, his thighs quaking pitifully: but it got better as he sank into it, the single plane of pain. He had a passing, totally foreign thought about what this would have felt like with a paddle, or a lash. But never mind. Never mind, he was glad to think of Anakin's tiring, real hand. Those long firm fingers.  
  
The slaps had stopped. A finger found its way to his entrance. Just the tip prodded, rubbed, and he came as though ordered to: his thoughts linking up with that one glimpse to haul him over the edge. It was a long orgasm. His eyes closed, opened, and he could still feel himself spasming, his cock wildly sensitive against Anakin's tabard. Anakin hadn't even tried to push him away, which Obi-Wan couldn't decide whether he was grateful for or not. It seemed an unnecessary consideration, really. His head was ringing enough _without_ him having been budged from his perch.  
  
Anakin did, however, roll him over onto his back after a few moments, probably getting spunk all over his flipped-up tunic--certainly getting some on his abused bottom. Anakin seemed concerned about something. Obi-Wan squinted up at him blearily, and realized his apprentice was trying to apologize, red mouth moving at double-speed.  
  
Only Anakin.  
  
He swelled with fondness, rather chaste. He sat up in Anakin's lap, ignoring the pain that spiked through his tailbone, and kissed the boy. Anakin made a sound of surprised betrayal; he jammed a hand under his own waistband, displacing the tabard. Obi-Wan let their mouths slip apart, put his face in Anakin's neck, and let Anakin rub off against his naked hip. In his current frame of mind it felt impersonal, a sort of mechanized jostle. Anakin the massage chair, complete with syntheleather upholstery. Even his climax was a distant, echoey ringing in their bond... no, through the Force. They weren't master and padawan any longer.  
  
Not really appropriate, he reflected. But neither was it the worst thing they'd done to each other over the course of Anakin's training; when he thought of the arguments they'd had, the missions endangered... It was hard to summon up the piety for a lecture. Exhaustion had left Anakin slumped against the bulkhead, where they lay in a rather indelicate pile, and Obi-Wan could feel come soaking cold through the wool of his tunic. Anakin's tights were probably unsalvageable. No lecture. He kissed Anakin's throat, instead, lightly but severely. It might have been cruel--from how Anakin stiffened it was plainly a little cruel--but in his own mind he was groping after some of the formality of thanksgiving. Then, because Anakin was still _there_ , chest heaving, he kissed the long neck all over, from the corner of Anakin's jaw to just under his collar. Anakin trembled once or twice, but displayed, on the whole, remarkable forbearance.  
  
"Well," he said, after a while. "Will you rest, or do I have to get the shock collar?"  
  
"What did the med-droid tell _you_?" Obi-Wan mumbled into his clavicle. "You seem lacking in stamina."  
  
"I can't feel my wrist," Anakin admitted.  
  
"I'll have to assign a strengthening kata."  
  
"Not my master, Master."  
  
"Oh. Yes." Anakin had begun stroking his back in abstract patterns. "Perhaps a compromise..."  
  
"Nap?"  
  
They disentangled themselves. Slowly. He hissed a bit when some insignificant movement sent a twinge up the small of his back, and Anakin's durasteel hand tightened on one shoulderblade. Obi-Wan let a hint of the soreness bleed across his shields; it was hard to broadcast the soreness, though, without also leaking some of the satisfaction that went with it. He broke off quickly. Much good it did him. Anakin's crooked smile followed even as he lay down, a silly, private moon stabbing the corner of his vision. Anakin got up to get a washcloth--it was a testament to the justice of Anakin's original complaint that Obi-Wan had been fully prepared to sleep in his mess. Though Anakin was always more fastidious than him, really, when fastidiousness was of no importance.  
  
When he came back, he'd taken off everything but his undertunic. His long legs shone in the soft strip lighting of the cabin's floor. He bent down to clean Obi-Wan off, and Obi-Wan, appreciative, arched into the touch, before insisting on taking the towel. Obi-Wan looked at Anakin for what felt like the first time in an hour: not too close, not blurred by need. Just the slightly overdetermined clarity of sleeplessness.  
  
It was odd. He'd thought of sex as a detour, useful where this war blocked the path forward. But it had brought them somewhere old instead: Anakin's unguarded, easy care. He knew they both worried too much. But _he_ could do better, he decided. He would learn to do better. If it was a question of trust, why, he was prepared to involve himself in any number of ridiculous things--to practice trust until there was no limit to it.  
  
And there was Anakin, within reach. Hair in his eyes, biting his lip--not hard enough to hide the grin, what a shame. Obi-Wan drew him down.


End file.
